When fiction imitates life

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Headline: When fiction imitates lifeByline: Alys R. YablonEdition; DailySection: BooksPage: 12

Friday, June 13, 2003 -- Ziff: A Life/: A novel by Alan Lelchuk. Carroll & Graff. 409 pp. $25

Danny Levitan, almost 60, is a writer nearing the end of a disappointing literary career. The author of several "promising" novels gone steadily out of print, he now lives in New Hampshire in semi-isolation with his wife and two sons, teaching and writing his next book with a combination of cautious optimism and resignation.

It is not surprising, therefore, that when his editor faxes him one morning with the offer of a lucrative "six- figure" advance to pen the biography of controversial Jewish novelist Arthur Ziff, his long-time friend and mentor, Levitan is immediately interested. After a brief period of moral indecision, Levitan signs the contract and begins working on the book that will change his life and possibly end a significant friendship.

As other reviewers have noted, the details of Levitan's life closely resemble those of his creator, Alan Lelchuk. Both live and teach in New Hampshire, both have written strikingly similar novels that were not as successful as anticipated (Levitan is the author of Helen at 34, while Lelchuk authored Miriam at Thirty-Four), both are in the same stage of literary life. Like Levitan, Lelchuck is also a protege of sorts - in his case, to Phillip Roth, who may well be the model for Ziff: both are revered and criticized equally, have built their careers exploring explicit, "untouchable" sexual themes, portray self-effacing Jewish narrators who obsess over the "shiksa Other," and have had sensational personal lives.

The book also brings to mind Saul Bellow's controversial novel, Ravelstein, a fictionalized account of the life of his friend, the late thinker Alan Bloom, in which a dying Abe Ravelstein (Bloom) challenges his longtime friend Chick (Bellow) to record his life story. One may easily make the chain of association from Bloom to Bellow to Roth to Lelchuk, creating a rich subtext of curious supposition.

Indeed, the protagonist does a commendable job of describing the writing process, the solitary nature of the post-modern homebound writer, and the ways in which he must balance the instant conveniences of Internet and e-mail with the slow and often laborious creative endeavor. Lelchuk has structured the novel such that we read excerpts from the work-in-progress alongside the narrative of Danny's current research and his memories with Ziff - a technique that in and of itself is an interesting statement on the writing process.

Unfortunately, however, Lelchuk's novel does not live up to its potential. In excessive, often painfully obvious detail, the narrator spells everything out for his reader, leaving nothing to the imagination. Every step of his journey, every line of internal debate, even the contents of every meal served in the course of the story are described in endless, literal detail. There is not much in the way of artful language or inventiveness.

Ostensibly a literary detective novel uncovering the hidden life - both offensive and redemptive - of a renowned writer, the most chilling question in Ziff is whether or not Danny will go through with publishing his book despite Ziff's threats of libel suits.

Levitan's deliberate first-person narration is unrealistically monotone through the entire novel. Every character, in fact, falls on the page with the same dull thud when they speak, save the few with mercifully European accents.

This is particularly disappointing because Danny encounters some of life's most conflict-ridden choices during his literary journey, and yet never seems to grow in any significant way. For example, in the course of his writing Ziff, Levitan has three extra-marital affairs: one with a Hungarian professor, another with a set of three prostitutes, and a third with a former student. Not once does he grapple with the basic human emotions of guilt or the devastating implications that his infidelity may have on his marriage. Instead, we are faced with the (unfortunate) realities of infidelity and prostitution, but cheated out of the rich psychological debates such actions (we hope) inevitably engender.

Although his book may well be based on real people and events, Lelchuk consistently fails to capture their complex humanity. In an obvious addition made during the editing process, Levitan tacks a one-paragraph lament for the events of September 11 to the end of a long section detailing his progress on the biography; mid-chapter he introduces a serious medical emergency; later on we hear his wife Becka speak for almost the first time as she asks him, suddenly, to leave the house. None of these actions quite succeed at conveying a depth of emotion, nor do they make us feel more connected to the characters who experience them.

We are not surprised, then, when Levitan's biography is published, only to meet with limp reviews, sending him into an emotional tailspin of a breakdown. Unfortunately, just as the biography within fails, so too does the novel that details its creation. Ultimately Lelchuk's statement on the writer's process and the literary life is humbling: sometimes you can pour your whole self into a project, only to come out spent and disappointed, having produced a book that other people pan.

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